


Three Isn't Always A Crowd

by SushiOwl



Series: Fake Date, Might Be Real Date [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, POV Stiles, Sassy Peter Hale, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, just a lot of sass, though not for main characters exactly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 11:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14617704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: Prompt fill for Peter/Stiles/Deuc fake date with the starter sentence "Why are you looking at me like that?"





	Three Isn't Always A Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> Near direct follow up for previous work in series, though it's not necessary reading to understand this one.

“What do you mean Deucalion and I can’t go in?”

The entire gathering was quiet at Peter’s indignation. Stiles found it hilarious, almost wishing he had popcorn. Anything that ruffled that guy’s feathers was bound to make a worthy show. Even though he understood why Peter was upset, it was still funny. 

Ever since that one undercover op--Stiles was allowed to use that language, because he was FBI, so nyeh--Peter and Deucalion had been joined at the hip. He wasn’t sure what they were doing could be called dating. Did two power-hungry egomaniacs date?

Did they take romantic walks? Not unless they were stalking prey. Did they hold hands? Probably only to fight for dominance, like romance chicken. Did they have candlelit dinners? They might slaughter prey animals and eat them together. Did they go to the movies? Wait.

What even was their sex life like? Stiles looked between them. They were both fit men. They probably fought about who got to be on top. Stiles pulled out his phone and turned away from the group, trying to look distracted while also keeping his blushing face hidden. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about this.

“Hold on, Derek, say that again?” came Peter’s voice, and he sounded on the edge of laughter.

Stiles had to look back, and yup, he had that smirk on his too-handsome face that always induced Stiles’s Smooch or Smack response. He’d hit him a few times, but that was it.

Derek looked like he wanted to be elsewhere, maybe a cave or under several blankets. “I said,” he bit out. Wait, was he flushed? He was! All the way to the tips of his cute little ears. “That the place is a for Daddies and baby boys. You two only fit one of those categories.”

Peter looked like it was his birthday. He looked at the others, grinning. “Okay, you all heard that, right? I’m not having a stroke?”

“Yes, everyone heard it, Peter,” Lydia said from her place on the couch. She had two textbooks before her and a highlighter in her hand. A meeting about stopping a skinwalker was not quite enough to take her attention away from getting her Ph.D. in aerospace engineering.

“O’ nephew mine,” Peter said, putting his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “How exactly do you know about Daddy/baby lifestyle?”

Derek gave Peter a long, flat look before he brushed his hand off. “The point is: You and Deucalion can't go into such a place. You’ll look like sex traffickers.”

Isaac let out a laugh that sounded a bit like a goose honk. Derek reached back and casually high-fived him. They were dating, and it was weird.

Stiles seemed to be the only detached member of their team. He pondered that for a sad little moment. He had a good job, a nice salary, a cute dog that hadn't chewed on his shoes in a while, a great apartment, and a nice car. (RIP Rosco.) But what he didn't have was someone to share all of that with.

After musing depressingly for a minute, he realized that everyone was quiet. He looked up and found Peter and Deucalion had their attention pointed his direction. He frowned at them. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not looking at you like anything," Deucalion told him mildly.

Peter snorted, nudging Deucalion's foot with his own in a casual touch that made Stiles uncomfortable. "Why don't you come with us, Stiles?" Peter asked, looking a fair amount less like the scheming bastard Stiles was used to.

So Stiles didn't trust it. He narrowed his eyes at them. "Why?"

"It'll be less suspicious if all three of us are there. It's not uncommon for two Daddies to share a baby boy," Peter explained.

"How do you know that?" Derek asked, apparently surprising himself because he probably didn't want to know the answer.

Peter gave him a snake-like smile. "I was young once."

404 Response Not Found. Derek stared blankly. It took a moment, possibly for Derek.exe to reboot, and then he just got up and walked out of the room, muttering something that sounded quite like "nope, nope, nope." Isaac followed after him, hiding his smile with his scarf.

"What do you say, Stiles? Will you be our baby boy?" Peter asked, still smiling. He was enjoying this far too much.

Stiles was trying to figure out how to say 'no' without looking like a frightened child.

"Peter," Deucalion said in that quiet way that demanded everyone attention. "If he doesn't want to do it, leave him alone. Do not pressure the boy." 

Boy?  _ Boy? _

"I'll do it," Stiles said, because he was a man, dammit. And he would prove it by doing this undercover op as a baby boy. He only vaguely knew what that entailed, but he could surely wing it.

 

* * *

 

"What the hell? I thought we were dressing sexy?" Stiles complained as he met Peter and Deucalion in the parking lot of the club. "You guys are just wearing suits!"

Peter gave Stiles a haughty look, smoothing down the front of his deep navy suit. "There is nothing  _ just _ about Kiton." He looked Stiles up and down, looking unimpressed. "I requested that you dress sexy, and I see you have failed."

"What is he wearing?" Deucalion asked. His suit was black, and it looked terrific on him.

"Dark, tight jeans, hi-tops, and a black button down," Peter said, before he grabbed Stiles's arm, making Stiles gasp and curse quietly, and rubbed at the shirt. "Synthetic silk." He dropped his

"It sounds like he made an effort," Deucalion said with a small shake of his head.

"Yes, A for effort, Stiles." Peter smiled as Stiles tried to glare holes in his head. Peter was unaffected by Stiles's annoyance. "Luckily, I anticipated this." He turned, rounded his car and hit the button of his key fob to make his trunk open with a chirp. "Here." He pulled out what was maybe a shirt, though there wasn't a lot to it. "Put this on."

Stiles tried to catch it when it got was tossed in his direction, but he was as graceful as a baby hippo outside of water, so he mostly just flailed, and the shirt hit him in the face anyway. He pulled it off and looked at it before he lowered it and gave Peter an exasperated expression. "Peter, this is a crop top."

"Very good, Stiles," Peter agreed as if Stiles were a child making obvious observations and praise was the required response. "Now put it on."

"I am not wearing a crop top, Peter," Stiles told him. His tone was measured, but he was close to punching Peter in his stupid handsome smug face.

"Alright," Peter relented before he started rummaging in his trunk. "If that doesn't suit you, and I have a pair of booty shorts with 'Juicy' written across the back of them."

"Fine, I'll wear the crop top," Stiles said, just a little too quickly for it to be anything but a fear response. He turned and went around his car to change his shirt. His new vehicle was also a Jeep, so it was tall enough to hide behind. This time it was red and state of the art. His name was Bruno. 

Stiles stepped out from behind his car after changing, face warm, though his jaw was set in determination. He knew he looked ridiculous. He had, in fact, seen himself in a crop top before, though that time it had been the top half of a cheerleading uniform. He was not good at winning bets.

Peter was smiling like the cat who got the cream. He leaned toward Deucalion. "He looks delicious."

Deucalion snorted softly. "Stiles, come here. I have something for you."

Stiles tried not to wonder if Peter was just messing with him or if he really thought he looked good. "What?" he asked, stepping over. He watched Deucalion put his hand in his pocket and pull out a-- "Are you kidding?" Stiles spat. "I am  _ not _ wearing a fucking collar."

"Stiles, if you go in there without some indicator that you are taken, an enterprising Daddy might take a chance to steal you away from us. It could cause a scene. Wouldn't that be a distraction that none of us need?" Deucalion told him flat out.

Stiles wished that wasn't logical. He sighed. "Fine." He lifted his hand for the collar.

But Deucalion was faster, looping the cool leather around Stiles's neck, pulling the length of it through the eye of the belt hook, then securing it. How he did that so easily while being unable to see, Stiles wouldn't know. He couldn't even ponder it, because Deucalion's fingers were still there on his skin, sliding along the edge of the collar. He hooked two fingers under it and gave a small tug.

"Not too tight?" Deucalion asked.

Stiles swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing against Deucalion's knuckles. "No," he said, and his voice was a little more hoarse than he wanted it to be. 

"Good," Deucalion said, sliding his fingers out from the collar and then down Stiles's neck, over his collarbone and down his front to where the fabric of the crop top ended. "Then you're all set." Just like that, he turned away and found Peter's arm. "Let's go."

Stiles touched his neck, feeling a little bit tingly where he'd been touched. That wasn't a casual swipe of the fingers, right? There had been some deeper meaning to it. Or, perhaps he was just reading into it too much. Deucalion used his hands to see. But he hadn't needed to linger.

"Coming, Stiles?" Peter asked, pulling Stiles out of his thoughts.

"Yes," Stiles said, stepping forward, ready to follow them in. But his steps stuttered as Peter held out his hand to him, palm up. "What--"

"We wouldn't want to lose our baby," Peter said, and it was difficult to tell what level of seriousness he was showing. He was smirking, of course, but his eyes seemed sincere.

Stiles took his hand, tingles moving up his arm like waves. Damn, was he really so lonely as to get goosebumps holding hands with a murderer? Apparently so. He fell in line beside them, more worried about what was waiting for them now and if he'd be able to maintain cover with his head swimming like this.

The club was called Number Play. Stiles had seen photos of the interior online. There were crescent couches with low circular tables around a bar in the middle. There was a karaoke stage in the corner. And there were  _ private rooms _ in the back. Stiles knew what he was getting into, but that didn't mean he was prepared to see the place when it was populated.

Around the whole place, older men--ranging from mid-forties like Peter and Deucalion to mid-sixties--were sitting with young men--legal, Stiles was almost sure of because he was at the door. All the older men--the Daddies were wearing suits, looking elegant and expensive. The baby boys were wearing significantly less. Stiles figured he was probably one of the only ones with his nipples covered.

"Where do you believe we should sit, Stiles?" Deucalion asked. "To have the best vantage point."

Oh, right, he was a fed. He knew stuff. He glanced around before he found an empty couch with a good view of the door, the private rooms, and the back exit. He curled his arms around Peter's, earning a slightly surprised look. "I wanna sit over here, Daddy!" he said, putting a high pitched lilt in his voice as he dragged Peter and, by extension, Deucalion over to the booth he'd chosen.

No one around them even batted an eye at his behavior.

"That was just a little frightening," Peter muttered, looking almost proud.

Stiles snorted and slid into the booth, stopping in the middle. Deucalion moved in next to him, and Stiles very nearly leaned into him. But he refrained, partly because he didn't want to surprise a blind man, but also because he was an idiot and shouldn't be having such thoughts.

"I'm going to get us drinks," Peter announced, eyes scanning the crowd.

"Oh, I'll have a rum and Coke!" Stiles said, bouncing like he was excited.

With a scoff, Peter shook his head. "You will have water, young man."

Stiles scowled at his retreating form. He wondered if sticking out his tongue would be too much or not, and by the time he had figured it out, the moment had passed. He huffed. Then he tilted his head toward Deucalion. "Smell anyone familiar?" he asked, almost inaudible.

"Not so far," Deucalion replied before he leaned back, putting his arms along the back of the booth. He looked powerful then, relaxed and in his element. Even if he couldn't see, it was evident that he considered this his domain.

Stiles dared to wonder if Deucalion genuinely was into that lifestyle. He shut that line of thinking down fast, however, because it didn't matter. Deucalion was with Peter, and that was that.

Still, Stiles leaned back and rested the back of his head in the crook of Deucalion's elbow. "So, if we don't know what he's going to look like, how will Peter and I know who he is?"

Deucalion let out a hum. "How is the lighting in here?"

Stiles glanced around. "Um, dim lighting." He looked toward the bar where Peter was chatting up the bartender. "There are lights on the bar top and directly above the bar." He looked at Deucalion. "Why?"

"A skinwalker's eyes reflect light just like a werewolf's, but much more obviously. Most humans will think it's just a trick of the light. Or, he might be wearing sunglasses." Deucalion hooked the edge of his shades with the tip of his fingers and pulled them down his nose just enough that Stiles could see the milky white of his eyes. Then he pushed them back up.

"What will most likely happen is that I will smell him first. He has a very distinct scent. Peter might even catch it, even though he's never smelled him before. Skinwalkers stink." Deucalion chuckled very softly.

Stiles was unable to keep from asking, "Do I stink? I didn't take a shower before this."

Deucalion's brows went up, then he leaned over and pressed his nose into the place where Stiles's jaw met his neck. Stiles let out a shaky breath before he bit his lip, trying to keep still as Deucalion breathed him in. He was pretty sure he had goosebumps over his entire body.

"No," Deucalion said, breathing ghosting along Stiles's skin. "You smell wonderful." He sounded like his wolf was a tad closer to the surface.

"I didn't realize that we were going this deep undercover."

Stiles jolted in surprise right against Deucalion's side, eyes popping open and jerking toward the voice. Jesus, how long had Peter been back? How did he slide into the seat without Stiles noticing? Now he was trapped in the booth by two werewolves, and he should have been more worried he was going to be eaten instead of imagining all the creative ways he'd like them to eat him. 

"Shut up," Stiles said far too late for it to be a good comeback. His face was burning. In fact, he was burning all over. He grabbed the glass of water and gulped at it. Halfway through it, he realized he was still leaning on Deucalion. He swallowed his mouthful. "I--oh--I didn't mean--"

"I don't mind, Stiles," Deucalion said, staying where he was.

Stiles could have moved if he wanted to, but he didn't think he wanted to. He cleared his throat and looked at Peter, who was watching him with such intensity in his blue eyes that Stiles couldn't help his shiver. Not for the first time, Stiles was struck by how blue Peter's eyes were. In this low lighting, they looked like pools of water under the stars.

Stiles set down his glass of water. He knew that when he started waxing poetic in his head that it was time for him to take a step back and reassess. "You guys--um--did you invite me because--"

In a synchronized motion, Peter and Deucalion both held up their hands for him to be quiet, putting their noses to the air. Stiles rolled his lips into his mouth, feeling like a complete dumbass. 

"That's him?" Peter asked, and Deucalion nodded. Peter flared his nostrils to take another whiff. "I only smelled him for a moment. Okay, I'm going to the bar to keep an eye out." He scooted out of the booth and walked away without another word.

Stiles shook his head at himself. "I'm going to the bathroom," he said, starting to scoot away from Deucalion. But then Deucalion's hand grasped the back of his neck, and he felt almost like melting. He blinked in Deucalion's direction.

"Be careful, Stiles," Deucalion said, looking almost concerned.

Stiles swallowed and made himself move away, telling himself that Deucalion didn't want him to make a mess of the op. "If I see him, I won't engage, I promise." He didn't wait for Deucalion to say anything before he was sliding out of the booth and heading away.

God, he was so stupid. Of course, Deucalion and Peter had zero interest in absorbing him into their relationship. They were perfectly happy by themselves, and they didn't need the total disaster that was Stiles Stilinski. He huffed at himself as he opened the door to the bathroom. Peter and Deucalion were sophisticated. Their interests wouldn't coincide with his. They would probably hate his dog too. What even would their sex life be like? How did you do that with three people? Why did he--

He stopped walking. "This isn't the bathroom." He was in a bedroom. So the private rooms were bedrooms. Gross. He could practically smell the jizz. "Blech," he commented before he turned around to go back out. He stopped dead at what was behind him.

He was cookie cutter handsome with a kind of perfection that was unsettling. Perfect blonde hair, a perfect body, perfectly symmetrical face, and perfect blue eyes. It wasn't right.

"Don't knock 'til you've tried it, baby," the guy said, tipping his chin up with a smile. The light caught his eyes like a headlight past a mirror. He stepped away from the door, and Stiles stepped back, body tensing up. "So you know what I am." The skinwalker looked Stiles up and down. "That's not surprising given the two mutts you were sitting with."

"Hey!" Stiles spat. "Only I get to insult them."

The skinwalker smirked, and his skin rippled along his cheek from the corner of his mouth. Welp, that was unsettling. Stiles flicked his eyes at the door, and the skinwalker moved closer.

"What's your hurry?" he asked, way too close for comfort. "Why don't we get to know each other?"

That was when the door banged open, and Peter and Deucalion were there, wolf faces on. When the skinwalker looked over his shoulder, face twisting into something inhuman and heinous, Stiles did the first thing that came to mind; he nailed the guy in the groin with his fist as hard as he could. 

Down the skinwalker went like an unbalanced Jenga tower.

Stiles stared at him clutching his nethers while trembling in the fetal position before he looked up at the two men in the doorway. Stiles shrugged, palms turned toward the ceiling. "Look, sometimes you just gotta punch 'em in the dick."

 

* * *

 

Stiles didn't go to the drop-off. He didn't want to know what the council was going to do to a murderous skinwalker. Instead, he went to Peter's place, which was an apartment downtown. He knew that Deucalion lived there too now. He wanted to talk to them both.

The doorman did not let him in. So he sat on the front steps of the building, still wearing the crop top, and he waited for Peter and Deucalion to come home. He recognized Peter's sleek car as it pulled into the parking garage, and he stood to wait for Peter and Deucalion to walk out of it.

When they did, Peter stopped, looking surprised, before he turned and said something to Deucalion, who looked surprised too. They continued toward him, and Stiles steeled himself for their questions, prepared himself to explain, and made plans to buy Rocky Road ice cream on the way home if things went South. 

What he wasn't expecting at all was for them to, instead of asking him why he was there, pull him into their arms and wrap them in an embrace so sweet and comforting and overwhelming and perfect. He couldn't react right away, had no idea how to even start. He just knew that he wanted this to last as long as possible.

"What's wrong, Stiles?" Peter asked, breath ruffling Stiles's hair just a little. He was so close and so warm. Stiles leaned into him a bit more. "You smell like..."

"Like what?" Stiles hoped it was a good smell.

"Like you're facing down a dragon," Deucalion said, ever poetic.

Peter nuzzled the side of Stiles's head. "Like anxiety, like worry. What has you so upset, darling?"

Stiles swallowed.  _ Darling. _ Only old ladies called him that. When Peter said it, he made it sound like so much more than a casual endearment. He made it sound like he was someone to hold and cherish. Stiles felt his eyes prickle a little.

"Now you smell like tears," Deucalion said, pressing closer and sliding his hands along Stiles's arms until he reached his hands. He laced their fingers together around Peter's back. "Tell us what is wrong, so we can fix it."

Stiles let out a small laugh and blinked. If he had tears on his face, that was between him and Peter's shoulder. He sniffed. "So, uh, I was wondering if you guys were taking boyfriend applications because I know this one dude who's a total mess but will definitely wear crop tops if the situation calls for it."

Peter and Deucalion started laughing, deep, rich, and happy. They held him a little tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me [on Tumblr!](http://thesushiowl.tumblr.com/tagged/prompt+week) I take a week a month to fill prompts!


End file.
